


We Do Have Choices

by sagittarius3001



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Attempted Murder, Canon Gay Relationship, Castiel Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Castiel Has Panic Attacks, Chicago (City), Child Abuse, Christianity, Closeted Castiel, Creepy Alastair, Dean Has Nightmares, Dean Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Depressed Castiel, Drugs, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, Everything Hurts, F/F, F/M, Fear, Fear of Death, Female Homosexuality, First Day of School, First Time, Gang Violence, Gangs, Homophobia, Homosexuality, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Internalized Homophobia, Lonely Castiel, Lonely Dean, Love, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Murder, Murder-Suicide, Overdosing, Physical Abuse, Please Don't Hate Me, Reality, Regretful Dean, Self-Harm, Separated Winchesters, Slow Build, Smut, Stealing, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Castiel, Suicidal Dean, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Trauma, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, Underage Smoking, Underage Substance Use, Violence, Young Castiel (Supernatural), Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, be warned, conversion therapy, thieves, this is so happy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-18 12:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 15,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9385634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagittarius3001/pseuds/sagittarius3001
Summary: Castiel has never been to a public school in his life. His rigorously Christian parents had sent him to a Catholic school. He was always a good kid. He followed the rules and never did anything wrong.Until he meets Dean Winchester.





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel had never been in a public school in his life. His parents, who were legalistic Christians from Tennessee, had sent him to a private Catholic school ever since he can remember. Castiel was a good kid. He had As and a few Bs. He had a good conduct grade, and never did any drugs or been caught drinking alcohol behind the school. However, a move to the great city of Chicago brought everything crashing down on him. 

His parents sat him down on their old brown couch that had been in their old church for years. The new apartment smell still clung to all of their stuff as they had desperately tried to spray their perfume over everything. It smelled of wilted flowers. In Castiel’s opinion, it wasn’t that much of a step up. They sat across from him, backs straight and one eyebrow lifted. They mirrored each other’s actions like siamese twins. And Castiel’s dad said six words that made him sick to his stomach. 

“You are going to public school.”

Back up a bit. Castiel’s mom’s name was Naomi Novak. She’s a tall, thin woman. Her hair was brown, and always done up in a small, tight bun. Her eyebrows had been plucked into a narrow, straight line. She looked constantly ready to slap someone. Castiel’s dad is Charles Novak. He mostly goes by Chuck. He had golden-brown hair and a short trimmed beard. 

The Novak family were always clean cut. Unlike many people in the church, they never had any shortcomings. Mr. Novak was an assistant pastor at a very popular church. He brought in an unbelievable amount of money doing the Lord’s good work. Mrs. Novak had taught around Europe before settling down with her husband. She was a fierce Christian. They hated the secular mainstream world. When Castiel was fourteen, he wandered into town and walked around. When his father found out, he took off his belt and beat Castiel so hard he could hardly walk the next day. Their one son was another example of how pure they were. Castiel had always been seen as perfect. 

So Castiel stared at his parents with a mixture of horror and disbelief. This was a joke. It had to be a joke. His parents claimed that it was time he realize just how lucky he was to go to a Catholic school. They were sure he’d be stunned at the evil in the world. Maybe he would become a missionary. But Castiel knew the truth. They were short on money. Dad was no longer assistant pastor. They had to find new revenue. They couldn’t pour all this money into the expensive city Catholic schools. So they were sending him into their version of hell. 

So, it’s Castiel’s first day of eleventh grade. He sat in the back of the bus, leaning his head against the wall. He would hate this. He never doubted his parents once. This would be like hell for him. No one would be interested in him. He wasn’t interesting. Everything around him is grimy. Rotten food was stuffed between the wall and the seat. Empty soda cans rolled around on the floor. The kids in the bus were screaming and laughing. He had never been in such a dirty environment before. 

No one noticed or cared that Castiel was sitting there. He was grateful for that. In no time, he would be out of this stupid high school. His parents would pull him out when they saw how miserable he was. He gave it two months. Better to not get invested into a bunch of people he would never see again. 

That is, until someone plopped down next to him. It was a boy. He was tall, and his gold hair was chopped short. His deep green eyes pierced Castiel. And in spite of himself, he stared back into the mesmerizing green eyes. His throat closed up, and he shifted nervously. 

'What the heck, Castiel? Why are you so nervous?' Castiel thought nervously. He didn’t know why this boy made him so fidgety. Maybe it was just nerves. 

“You’re new,” the green eyed boy said. His voice was silky. 

“Yes,” Castiel said, still fidgeting. “My name is Castiel.”

“I didn’t ask,” The boy shot back. Castiel nearly choked and quickly looked away, his face burning. The boy laughed and punched his arm. 

“I’m joking.” he laughed. “God, you’re so serious, nerd. I’m Dean. Dean Winchester.”

Castiel smiled nervously. 

“You some rich school preppy?” Dean asked. He reached into his pocket and pulled out, to Castiel’s horror, a cigarette. Someone, Castiel assumed it was the driver, yelled back at him to “not fucking light that damn cigarette”. Castiel immediately cringed, and Dean sighed and put it back in his pocket.

“You’re used to some rich high school,” he continued. “I got that from your name. Only rich, cruel parents try out shitty names on their kids. What’s your name again?”

“Castiel.”

Dean made a fake gagging noise. “You won’t make it five feet with a holy ass name like that in this school. Call yourself ‘Cas’. It sounds better anyway.”

Castiel was shocked. The past five minutes had probably been the most interesting five minutes of his whole life. Dean was one of those evil kids his parents talked about. He smoked and listened to rock and wore leather jackets. But Cas couldn’t figure out why he felt so...happy? Why was this kid making him so nervous?

“Hey Dean! You gon’ sit there forever, jackass?” someone yelled at Dean across the bus. 

“That’s Gordon,” Dean said to Cas. “I gotta go. See you around Cas.”

And just like that, Dean was gone. Cas stared at where he had been for a full five minutes before clearing his head. He was about to arrive at what his parents called hell, and he was somewhat giddy. Like a school boy. He bit his lip nervously and looked out the window, reminding himself that he had a full day of horrors ahead. He shouldn’t get ahead of himself.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time it’s lunch time, Castiel is starving and anxious. He’s nearly forgotten about that green eyed boy on the bus. Dean. But he likes the idea of calling himself ‘Cas’. It’s plain and simple, like him. 

He walked into the cafeteria and was hit with a wave of sound. Like the bus, people were screaming and yelling across the room to each other. It took all he could not to cover his ears. Cas was quiet and concise. He wasn’t a loud mouth, and he didn’t care to raise his voice above a certain decibel. The noise was foreign, a nuisance, and he was tempted to take his lunch to the bathroom and eat it there. 

Someone grabbed him by the shoulder. Cas nearly dropped his lunch all over the floor, which would have been embarrassing enough for a new kid. But even worse, it was Dean. He smirked at Castiel.

“Woah, easy there, tiger,” Dean laughed. “Come sit with us. Better than sitting on the floor.”

Cas would be lying if he said he had no desire to sit with Dean. Dean is everything Cas isn’t. He’s cool and confident, he’s coarse and he smokes. His jacket smelled of alcohol. If his parents saw Dean, they would probably try to bless him with holy water. But Castiel can’t seem to stop himself from following Dean to his table and sitting next to him.

Castiel looked quietly at the other three people at the table. He recognized Gordon, the kid who had called Dean on the bus. He had dark skin and black, shaved hair. His bloodshot eyes glared at Castiel with anger. His clothes looked and smelled like they hadn’t been cleaned in weeks. He looked sick. He gobbled down his food as Castiel forced himself to look away. 

A girl sat at the table, her long silky hair gliding around her shoulders. She sat back, watching Castiel with narrowed eyebrows as she chewed her gum. She was dressed in black jeans, a long sleeved shirt, and a jacket. She was thin to the point of illness, and Cas could count the blue veins on her neck. Then, to Cas’s horror and surprise, she started kissing the girl next to her. 

The other girl had short blonde hair. Her crop top barely covered her chest, and her jeans were so ripped she may as well not have worn them. She pulled the black haired girl closer to her, her bloodshot eyes glancing back at Castiel with a smirk. 

Castiel remembered the first time he asked his parents what a ‘homosexual was’. His father took off his belt. Cas woke the next day with bruises covering his whole body. He saw his dad’s belt in the trash later. It had snapped. 

So when he saw the two of them kissing, he remembered the bruises that wouldn’t go away for months. He felt sick to his stomach and looked down at the floor. Dean must have noticed how uncomfortable Castiel was. 

“Bella, Meg, cut it out,” Dean snapped. 

“Why?” the blonde, Meg, drawled. “You jealous? Cuz we can add you to the action.”

“Fuck you,” Dean leaned back and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. “I’d rather kiss a corpse.”

“Fuck you,” Meg laughed and continued kissing Bella, who was more than happy to oblige. 

“Ugh, I’m starving,” Gordon said, rubbing his eyes.

“No, you’re high,” Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Is it that obvious?” Gordon sighed at his empty plate, tapping his heels against the floor in a rhythmic beat. 

“Dude,” Dean pushed his burrito toward Gordon. Gordon grabbed it and put the entire thing in his mouth. 

“You’re disgusting,” Bella stated. 

“Fuck you.”

“You might want to put your eyes back in your head before they run away, Castiel,” Meg droned. Castiel jolted. One time, in his old school, the teachers found a baggie of marijuana in someone’s locker. The whole school went on lockdown. They went through every locker and six more students were expelled. 

He had never heard someone talk about drugs casually in his life, much less use them. He looked down at his lunch which was no longer appetizing. He pushed it toward Gordon, grabbed his stuff, and walked away from the table. He heard Meg and Bella burst out laughing behind him. As soon as he got out of the cafeteria, he leaned against the wall and breathed heavily. 

“Cas!” Dean stumbled into the hallway behind him. Cas straightened and started walking away. Dean Winchester. With his pretty face and deep green eyes and gold hair. He was a druggie. He smoked and hung out with druggies. These were his friends, but they would certainly not be Cas’s. 

“Wait! Wait wait wait!” Dean grabbed Cas by the arm and pinned him against the wall. Cas was at least five inches shorter than him, but he looked up at Dean with such anger he may as well have been taller. 

“Let me explain,” Dean pleaded, his voice soft. Cas looked away from him and shoved Dean off him. But he didn’t run. He just stood there with his arms crossed. 

“I told them you were a rich, preppy kid, and to freak you out a bit. That’s all. Please don’t run. You seem like a cool kid,” Dean pressed his lips together. 

“Why do you care what I do, huh?” Castiel shot back. “I’m a new kid. You’re...you. Why would you be remotely interested in me? I don’t want anything to do with you or your,” he grit his teeth, “friends.”

“What? What the hell do you mean by that? You’re interesting. Here, I- uh. I- ” Dean stuttered for the first time since Cas had met him. “Do you want a ride to school every day?”

“What?!?” Castiel stared at the flustered Dean Winchester. What was he on about?

“I mean, you looked like you hated the bus. I have a car, a very nice car. You can ride to and from school every day with me,” Dean looked around the hall, like he couldn’t believe what he had just said. Castiel just stared at him. He hardly knew this kid. 

“Please,” Dean stared at Castiel earnestly. His cigarette hung from his mouth. Castiel felt nervous just being near him. “I want to help.”

Cas stayed silent. Looking at Dean made him feel strange, like he was on a roller coaster and the seat belt had come loose. He was frightened, and nervous, but so, so alive. And for the first time since Cas can remember, he felt vibrant. 

“I-I guess it can’t hurt.” Cas said haltingly. Dean gave a true smile, charming and calm. And Cas felt content for the first time in months.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean dropped Cas off at his apartment and promised to pick him up at seven-thirty the next morning. Cas stared at the steps leading up to his tiny brownstone apartment. He kept trying to rationalize his beliefs with the people he met. 

Dean was awful. He was everything his parents hated. From the way he dressed, to his smoking, to his friends, to even his music and car. He was a ‘bad kid’. And hewas with a ‘bad crowd’. He was either a homosexual, or hung out with them. Both, in Castiel’s family, were horrific. Yet Cas felt drawn to him. Like a moth to a flame. He felt like he was on fire when he was near him. He felt alive. 

He pushed those thoughts away as he walked into his apartment. His parents must have been waiting for him to get home. They were poised on the couch when he came in. For the first time, Cas felt irritated with his parents. They were self-righteous. Cas’s dad spoke first, in what seemed to be a rehearsed statement. 

“My son,” he started, “how was your day in the real world? How do you feel?”

“I have homework.” 

Castiel went into his room and shut the door behind him. He knew how his parents worked. Right now, they probably thought he was scared, or righteously angry, or some bullshit. But Cas slumped onto his bed and laid down. Cas found himself thinking about Dean Winchester. His green eyes, like the ocean in a storm. His face looked like it had been carved by Michelangelo. 

By the time his parents walked into his bedroom, Cas was curled up in his bed, half asleep. They said nothing as they turned out the light. Cas went to sleep, his last thought focused on seeing Dean again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short but I like it.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been three months. The education was substandard, the kids hated each other, and nothing in the school was clean or new. And Castiel was having the time of his life. 

Dean picked Cas up at 7:30, like he’d done since they made the agreement that day. It was dark that morning. The air was much colder now that it was nearly December. The snow had been plowed from in front of Castiel’s apartment. He stepped outside, bundled in a coat and a pair of gloves. Dean’s car was parked outside, and Cas could hear his rock music from several feet away. 

“Dude, seriously,” Cas called over the music as he slid into the passenger's seat. 

“What do you have against Metallica?” Dean whined.

“What do you have against not being deaf?” Cas retorted. 

Dean turned it down as he pulled away from the apartment complex. “God. Get a life.”

Cas hummed quietly along to Dean’s music as he sipped his coffee. He did his best not to notice Dean. Or the fact that he was wearing the same jacket Cas had met him in. He smelled of smoke, but Cas was beginning to like the smell a bit. He couldn’t exactly place why. 

“So Cas,” Dean glanced over at him. “You have a girlfriend?”

Castiel stared at him. He had never found it necessary to have a girlfriend. He’d met a couple girls, but, you know. There was no connection. Though maybe there wasn’t supposed to be one. Maybe he was just supposed to find someone decent and marry them. But Cas somehow always thought there should be more to it. He considered telling this to Dean, but instead he shrugged and said, 

“No.”

“Okay,” Dean said slowly. “A boyfriend?”

Castiel choked on his coffee. 

“What?!” he said fiercely. “No!”

“Woah, dude, calm down,” Dean looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Why so defensive?”

“Because - because,” Cas struggled to find the right words. 

“Because you think it’s wrong?” Dean offered, his voice brittle. 

Cas had already told Dean about his legalistic parents, whom Dean immediately called a ‘pile of bullshit’. That was the last time they had any sort of conversation about religion, or sin, or any of it. Cas tried to fix it. 

“Dean, you know what my parents-”

“I don’t give two fucks what your parents think. I’m asking you what you think.”

Cas went silent. He had tried to think about this. But the truth was, it was so ardently against his religion. His parents had gone to rallies after rallies fighting Pride Parades or protesting Washington. It was evil. It was wrong. It was an abomination to everything holy. 

And yet, Cas found himself thinking about the different gay coupled in the school. It seemed no different from the “normal” ones. They seemed just as happy, if not more happy than the straights. And while he was convinced that God hated these people, he was distressed as to why.

“I don’t know.” Castiel said, his voice small. “I know what the bible says, I just don’t know what I think.”

“The bible? The bible was meant for guideline shit and whatever,” Dean looked at Cas. “And while I don’t know all the shit it says, I would rather live life here happy with someone I love than constantly try to box myself into something I’m not to please some shit God. Someday, Cas, you’re going to have to make a choice on what makes you happy. And when that time comes, the bible isn’t going to give you shit on how to deal with it. You’re gonna have to drop all these notions you’ve been wired to believe, and you’re gonna have to chase what you really want.”

He parked outside the school and they sat in silence a while. Castiel understood exactly what he said. But it was so against everything he knew. But he did know that the only time he felt happy was when Dean was driving with him, or eating lunch with him. And he didn’t know why at the time, but that scared him to death.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, Cas waited anxiously outside his apartment for Dean to show up. It was seven-thirty. He always came at seven-thirty. He had never been late before. Cas thought about the conversation yesterday, and a silent nagging in the back of his head sounded. ‘What if he was tired of your shit? What if he thinks you’re an awful Christian prick who gives no thought to what he believes?’ Cas watched the time slip away, every second a bit more concerning than the last. Then, taking a last look at the sidewalk Dean usually greeted him at, Cas ran for the bus. 

\--

By the time lunch hits, Dean hasn’t showed up all day. And while Cas was really worried as to where Dean was, he was relieved Dean hadn’t just left him on the sidewalk. He sat with Gordon, who was naturally as high as a kite. Cas has, by now, realized how useless it is to tell an addict that drugs will kill them. He was just surprised by how little the school cared about it. Gordon practically smoked weed indoors. Even in an inner-city school, he expected a bit more class. 

“Yo, you have a light?” Gordon asked Cas as he sat down. He eyed the rolled up doobie in Gordon’s hand. 

“Where’s Dean?” He said, ignoring Gordon.

“Probably fucking some girl,” Gordon stuffed the weed in his pocket with a huff. 

“What?” Cas usually avoided conversations with Gordon. Gordon was a self-interested, cocky, usually high, asshole that cared as much about school as a rat cares about the US Constitution. He usually just glared at Cas from across the table for no reason. Castiel liked to keep their interactions short anyway. He was mostly just friends with Dean. In fact, he was only friends with Dean. 

“Dean likes it both ways,” Meg cut in, eying Castiel’s reaction. She was always trying to get some reaction out of Cas. He hated being around her as well. Her whole attitude was poisonous. Cas stared at everyone with confusion. Dean had never come out to him, per say, but the conversations they had seemed pretty self explanatory. 

“Dean is bi, Cas. He’s bi,” Bela said, rolling her eyes and playing with her food. Meg hit her playfully, shushing her. 

“Oh,” Cas hadn’t considered that. But of course. Girls fawned over Dean almost as much as guys did. But Cas’s parents never really even told him about homosexuals. He imagined how revolted they would be by someone who would fuck men and women. Their reactions made his skin crawl. But the rest of the group had already continued their conversation.

“Have you ever met his dad?” Meg asked Gordon, twirling her fingers in her hair. 

“Oh yeah,” Gordon’s red eyes went wide. “What a tool. Walked in on us making out. Beat the shit out of Dean for no damn reason. Think he was drunk or some shit.”

“And what about you?” Bela glared at him. “Did you run like an asshole?”

“Damn right I did,” Gordon took a sip from his water bottle, which Cas knew was filled with booze. “Last time I got beaten my dad was still alive. I don’t fuck with dads. They’re shit.”

There was a series of grunts around the table. 

“I heard he has a little brother,” Meg drawled. “Sam. He’s gonna enter high school next year. Can you imagine? Two Winchesters at this school? That exactly what we need.” 

“I’ve met him,” Gordon said quickly. “He’s a cute kid. Nerd, though. Don’t know how he’s gonna survive high school being such a nerd ass bitch.”

“Don’t talk about his brother like that,” Bela scolded. “He’s Dean’s whole world. It’s almost scary how close the two of them are.”

“Yeah, well his mother is fucking dead and his dad is a drunk. Of course he’s close to his brother,” Meg said. 

Castiel wished that he was close enough to Dean that he would know this. But he hardly knew Dean. He just wished he could talk about life with Dean. That they could tell each other their lives without it being weird. He wanted a close friend in Dean. But he had never had a close friend like that before. Not even at his old school. 

School was always so formal. No one got together and talked. No one really cared about other people in general. Just in getting straight As and going to a good college. Cas had never cared about anything besides that either. What about this new school made him so - doubtful? Why did he suddenly want more? Friends, love, community. That had never been an issue before. He had always been fine with what he had. Until now. Until Dean Winchester came and cared enough to talk to him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning:  
> Graphic Self-Harm/Suicide attempt. Please be careful if this is something you have trouble with.

After school, Cas went straight home. He felt like he was being choked. Like everything he believed was being squeezed out of him. He dropped his bag on the floor and stared at the empty apartment. His dad had found some job in a church and his mother was a new English teacher in some Catholic school they couldn’t afford. 

He kept trying to breathe. Why did he feel so trapped? Like he was drowning. Why did everything hurt? He stepped into the bathroom and stared at the mirror. A young, black haired boy stared a him. He looked awful. Like dirt and grime. He hated himself. Dean’s words kept flashing in his head. 

“Someday, Cas, you’re going to have to make a choice on what makes you happy.”

What made him happy? Nothing seemed to made Cas happy. All he knew is that he was raised in a “happy” home. His parents were Christians. He was a Christian. Christ made him happy. He was the only reason for him to be happy. 

Cas tried to will himself to think of times he had been happy. Truly happy. And the past months of driving with Dean surfaced. Talking to Dean made him happy. Driving and walking with Dean made him happy. Being with Dean made him happy. The idea repulsed him now, standing in his bathroom. And he knew why. 

He smashed the mirror with his fist as hard as he could. Everything seemed to shatter. Blood trickled down his hand as he slid down the wall. He was crying now. And he hated crying. He hadn’t cried since his dog had died. That was nine years ago. Glass landed around him, giant shards the size of his hand. He could see his reflection in the cracked glass. 

He was filthy. Filthy. A disgusting, revolting, awful human being. God hated him. 

God hated him. It’s better to be dead than have God hate you. It’s better to be dead than queer. 

Cas stared at the broken glass around him. This was his escape. This was his escape from hell. Because being queer meant he was going to hell. He knew that. Everyone knows that. He picked up a single shard, staring at his reflection in the light. The side was sharp. 

And in one swift motion, he started at his wrist, and sliced all the way up to his elbow. Everyone thinks the way to slice it side to side, a dozen, tiny little horizontal lines up and down someone’s arms. But the way to die is up, vertical. Blood spurted from the wound and ran down his arm like rain down a window. The pain sent a shock of relief through his system. He deserved this. 

God hated him. 

He sent another line up his arm, the blood draining onto his shirt.

God hated him. 

The relief was mixed now with horror as he went deeper with the next cut. 

God hated him. 

He thought of Dean now, sitting in his car, telling him to chase what made him happy. Telling him the bible was good for shit. The idea made him sick. 

God hated him. 

Cas dropped the piece of glass. It was covered in blood now. Cas was covered with blood. His vision blurred, and he knew it wasn’t because of tears. His arm felt like it was on fire. And for some reason, he doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to die alone in a bathroom, covered with glass and blood. He doesn’t want Dean to know he ended his life rather than dealing with the consequences of how he was raised. He doesn’t want God to hate him. 

He fished his phone out of his pocket, but his vision is blotchy. He feels sick. He dials the three numbers that could save his life. But he can’t hear if they pick up. Instead, he feels himself falling sideways. And he imagines his father’s face towering over him. 

“Better to be dead than a queer.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning:  
> Dad and Dean get in a fight. Blood and some violence.

Dean had been dealing with his Dad all day. 

It started the night before, when his dad came home, drunk, bruised, and pissed as hell. He had been in a bar fight by the looks of it. He stumbled through the front door, yelling about needing his gun. Sam and Dean had been on the couch, watching an old episode of Cheers. Dean didn't care for it, but Sam always got happy when he watched it. Dean couldn't say no to that. 

The door slammed open as dad walked through the door. Dean jumped to his feet and could immediately assess the situation. 

"I want me gun," Dad slurred. 

"Sam," Dean said nervously. "Take the laptop, go to your room, and lock the door. You can finish the episode without me." 

"But-" Sam whined, staring at Dean. 

"Go!" 

Sam grabbed the laptop and ran to his room quickly. Dean tried to calm his dad down. 

"Come on, Dad. Let's get you some water and food. You'll have one hell of a hangover," Dean tried gently. 

"I want my fucking gun," Dad stumbled towards his room. 

"You sold your gun, remember? It's gone," Dean lied. Dean had taken it and hidden it under his bed. But John doesn't like to be wrong when he's drunk. He honestly can't remember if he sold the gun or not. 

"I wouldn't sell my gun. It's mine." John stumbled onto the couch, getting blood on the pillows. 

"Yeah, Dad, you sold it for more booze. Remember?" Dean tried desperately to get him to sit down, to no avail. 

"Some stupid piece of shit in the bar wouldn't shut the hell up," Dad dropped onto the couch. "Threatened to have me banned from the fucking bar. It's practically my bar."

"I bet he learned his lesson," Dean said, carefully tugging his Dad's boots off. "I bet you beat his ass to a pulp."

Dad groaned, "I want my gun. He has a death wish."

"Hmm," Dean stood. "Lemme getcha some water. You'll sleep this off in no time." 

His father grunted, and Dean went into the kitchen. But by the time he came back, Dad had fallen asleep. Dean set down the water carefully on the coffee table and got his dad a blanket. 

He went into his room and collapsed on his bed. The clock had a blinking 1:00 am on it. Which means he had five hours of sleep to get. He dozed off, not even changing his clothes. 

 

He woke up to yelling and cursing. He jumped up suddenly. It was four am. His dad was standing in his room, and in his hands were his gun. 

"You told me I fucking sold it!" Dad yelled, turning the light on angrily. 

"Dad, why the hell are you awake?" Dean rubbed his eyes. 

"You lied to my face! You fucking piece of shit. You told me-"

"Yeah? Well I had to stop you from spending nights in jail somehow!" Dean yelled at him. "Sam needs you! I need you! You can't seem to even hold your fucking liquor, much less a gun!"

"It's not your job to regulate me!" Dad screeched. 

"It is if you're fucking dead or in jail! That puts me and Sam in a foster home," Dean hit his fist against the table. "Though it would be better than this shit hole." 

"You ungrateful shit kid. I should put you in your goddamn place," Dad stumbled forward angrily. 

"You can fucking try."

Chaos followed. Dad was a marine, and was no sucker in a fight. But Dean was taught by watching his dad. And he could fight just as well. In ten minutes, Dean's room had been reduced to a war zone. His mattress was off its frame and on the other side of the room. All of the things in his desk had been emptied on the floor and two of his drawers were missing. 

This is Dad. Dad can't handle himself or his shit. Dad is a mess, a wild hurricane of a man. He turned against his own son for trying to take care of him. Dad lived in the past, when he was young and just out of the marines. When he was just married to the love of his life. That's all Dad cared about. 

After literal hours, Dean delivered the knock out punch. Dad careened to the ground and laid there, practically immobilized. Dean dragged him out of his room and into the living room. The light was just coming through the windows. He propped Dad up on the couch and washed his father's face. Blood, dirt, and grime came off. Dean could see where he'd left bruises. Chances are, he could convince Dad this was all from last nights bar fight. Dad wasn't at all sober. He could maybe manipulate his memories to accommodate the extra bruises and cuts. Maybe. 

Dean stumbled into the bathroom. Dad had got more hits in than Dean had. His face was a bloody, swollen mess. Every muscle in his body ached. His room was a mess. He had hardly gotten any sleep. So he washed his face and set himself to cleaning up his room. And before he knew it, he had passed out on his mattress, still not on the bed frame.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning:  
> Mild descriptions of self harm/suicide. Angst 

When Dean woke up, it was well past noon. His first thought was that he had left Cas on the sidewalk, with no idea as to where he was. He felt a pang of guilt, followed by pain in general as Dad's anger showed up in bruises all over Dean's face. 

Dean sat up painfully. His room was still a mess. He forced himself up and started cleaning his room up. By the time he was nearly finished, it was two in the afternoon. School would be finished soon. Maybe he would call Gordon to hang out. Or Cas. The idea made him happy, despite the shit he'd just been through. 

By the time Dean had finished his room, taken a shower, and cleaned the kitchen of numerous beer bottles, it was three o'clock. Dad hadn't even woke yet. Dean knew school was out, so he picked up his phone and called Gordon. 

"What the hell, Winchester?" Gordon's tired voice came over the phone. 

"Yeah, sorry. Dad came home drunk as hell last night. It's been a crazy few hours."

"You said last night. What do you mean by few?" 

"Like I said. It's been fucking crazy -"

Dean's phone started ringing. He stared at the icon hesitantly. Cas never called him. Maybe it was an emergency. 

"Uh, Gordon? I'll call you back," Dean said. He could hear Gordon complaining as he exited the call and answered Cas. 

"Cas? Hey man, I'm sorry I didn't show up today. I've had a pretty crazy-"

"It's better to be dead than queer," a voice, Cas, rasped over the phone. 

"What?!" Dean listened as hard as possible into the receiver. He could hear Cas breathing heavily. 

"Help," the voice whimpered quietly. 

"I'm coming, Cas. Don't try anything, I'm coming." Dean ran for the door, grabbing his keys and a coat as he barely managed to close the door behind him. 

"Cas, you okay?" He said as he got in his car. A thousand images entered his mind of Cas's parents beating him. Or hurting him. The idea made Dean sick. Cas didn't respond, but Dean kept him on the phone. 

"Cas, I don't know what's wrong but I'm coming to get you. You're going to be okay." 

Dean pulled out and ran the next couple of red lights. Chicago police are shit anyway. If this were some classy place like New York or Boston, you might get in trouble for shit like a red light. But nobody cares about Chicago, because no one wants to live there in the first place. 

He pulled in front of Cas's ritzy apartment and realized he didn't know the apartment number or anything. 

"Cas? What's your apartment number?"

No answer. Dean couldn't even hear breathing now. 

"Goddamnit Cas!"

He went through his texts until he saw the very first one Cas sent. 

'Hi Dean. This is Castiel from school. Here's my full address if you need it. ' 

The next text gave the full address, apartment 7B. Dean bolted from his car and ran into the brownstone behind some rich guy who lived there. No one questions if you live somewhere. No one gives a shit. But the man eyed Dean strangely. From the bruises and cuts, to the leather jacket, Dean did not belong in this fancy ass place. 

Dean took the stairs two at a time, trying to talk to Cas the entire time. He didn't get an answer, but he could still hear a shallow breath in the receiver. By the time he hit the seventh floor, he was exhausted and sweaty. He saw 7B out of the corner of his eye. He tried the handle. It was unlocked, thank God. 

"Cas?!" He yelled into the apartment. No one answered. He walked into the pristine little place, which smelled like a mix of old furniture and dead roses. He hated it. He looked ahead and saw the bathroom door slightly ajar. And inside, he saw shattered glass. 

Almost slowly and fearfully, Dean swung open the door to the bathroom. 

"Cas?"

Cas's small body was curled up in a pile of blood and glass. His black hair was flaked with glass. He was just barely breathing. He looked dirty and grimy, his arm was covered with deep cuts. He was bleeding out. Dean called the police almost immediately. 

"911, what's your emergency?"

"I need an ambulance."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's super gay I'm not sorry

Cas woke up in a hospital bed. He couldn't remember how he got there. Everything came in small bits and pieces, like watching a movie through a tunnel. His head hurt. His arm hurt. 

And then he remembered. 

It crashed into him like a tsunami. The glass, the blood. He felt like he was drowning again. Except now people knew. His parents knew. Dean probably knew. Why wasn't he dead? He was supposed to be dead. 

He opened his eyes and squinted at the sunlight. The hospital room was dingy, but that's Chicago for you. Everything seemed like it was tinted gray. Dean sat in a chair beside the window. He looked awful. His face looked like it had been used as a punching bag. He was covered with cuts and bruises. He was looking at Cas with such concern it was palpable. As soon as he saw Cas was awake he shot to his feet. 

"Hey, hey, hey," Dean said, standing by Cas's bed. "Cas, are you okay?"

On one hand, Dean was there. And Cas felt happy to see him. He was glad Dean was here, now. Then he felt a wave of shame. Dean was here because of him. He was wasting his time here when he could have been with a friend. He knew Cas was like this. He would never see Cas the same way. 

"I mean, Cas, why would you...how could you..?" Dean struggled to find the right words. 

"Dean, I'm gay." Cas blurted out. "I'm fucking gay." 

Dean went silent. Then,

"How long have you known?" 

"Well today, but I think really a month or so," Cas starting biting his nails, a habit he had in kindergarten. 

"Jesus Christ, Cas. You should have told me. Instead of-this." 

"It's w r o n g," Cas was shaking. "It's wrong to be gay. It's not natural. It sickening."

"Fuck, Cas. I don't know shit about the Bible, but I know you've got one life. Do you think an all powerful being would want you to end it?" Dean stared at Cas. 

"If it isn't holy, then I think so." Cas said quietly. Being alone with Dean made him antsy. Dean looked so fierce. So purely angry. It hurt to look directly at him. 

"Cas," Dean stood directly by his bed. "Look at me." 

The last thing Cas wanted to do was look at Dean. His heart was beating fast, his arm hurt. Dean was close. His green eyes flashing with concern and anger. His golden hair being a sort of bed head majesty. His hands cupped Cas's gently. Cas hated himself for noticing that. For noticing how Dean acted. For noticing that Dean was close. He was so close. 

Dean touched Cas's face, carefully outlining it as if it were glass that might break. And he was cupping Cas's cheek softly. Cas could smell his cologne. It was woodsy, like a deep forest. It was mixed with a smoke that Cas had begun to associate with Dean. The smell of cigarettes. And Dean was so close that the only place to look was into his eyes. His deep green eyes. He was centimeters away from Cas's face. Dean brushed his lips against Cas's. They are soft. Softer than Cas could have imagined. And Cas felt all of the hair on his arms rise. 

Dean came in more forcefully. And he was kissing Cas, pulling him close to his face. And Cas remembered when he first met Dean. Feeling like he was on fire. But now he felt like he was in a furnace. He wanted Dean. He wanted to be closer to Dean. He wanted to touch Dean. He wanted all barriers to be removed. He had never felt like this before. But he needed Dean. Like he needed to breathe. 

Dean pulled away suddenly, and Cas was filled with surprise. He didn't want it to end. But then it hit him. He just kissed Dean Winchester. And all thoughts of sin and abomination was swept away with everything Dean. He didn't care if he went to Hell. He didn't care about his parents. He just wanted Dean. 

But Dean looked alarmed. He stared right past Castiel at something next to the door. And Cas knew who it was before he even turned his head. 

Castiel's parents stood at the door. They had just seen the whole thing.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean stared at Cas’s parents. He hated them. They taught Cas to hate himself. They taught him it was better to be dead than gay. They were the reason Cas tried to kill himself. They were the reason they were here. 

Dean placed his hand protectively on Castiel’s arm. He was shaking, and looked like he was going to be sick. The Novak parents didn’t look much better. They looked as if they had been hit by a truck. They stared at Cas like he was disease. 

“Young man,” Mr. Novak said slowly to Dean. “We’d like to talk to our son alone.”

Dean stared at Cas. He looked sweaty and sick. He hadn’t been ready to come out to his parents. He wasn’t ready to take them on right now. Dean kept a firm grasp on Cas’s shoulder. He knew Cas’s parents would rip into him like dogs into a carcass.

“I’m good here,” Dean said coldly. “”Thanks.”

He kept eye contact with Chuck, Cas’s father, almost daring him to argue. Dean was already covered in bruises from last night’s fight. But that was against a marine. This guy was a writer nerd. Dean could cap him in four seconds.

“Castiel,” Naomi started carefully, her voice hard and thin. “We are just trying to understand what’s going on.”

There was a short silence while Cas stared at the fibers of his blanket. Then, finally: 

“I am gay.”

“No,” Chuck cut in, “you are confused, my son. Sending you to public school poisoned you with evil thoughts. These people,” he waved his hand at Dean, “poisoned you. But you were raised with the truth. You can be cured. We can fix you.”

Cas was staring at his father’s belt, and Dean could swear a shiver broke over him. The words echoed in Dean’s head. He remembered believing he needed to be fixed. He didn’t want to be gay, or associated with gay people. He wanted to be a stereotypical jock with tons of girls on his arm. When he came out as bi, though, it just made sense. Not only could he maintain girlfriends, but he got to also be with boys. The point is, Dean knew how anxious Cas was. 

Castiel lifted his head slowly to look at his father in the eyes.

“Actually, if anyone poisoned me, it’s you,” Cas said, his voice cold and stiff. “All of my life, you never exposed me to different ways of thought. I grew up believing that people who weren’t Christians were monsters. Those people are now my friends. Those people are everywhere, They hate, and fight, and curse. But they love and care about people. You, though, you only hate.”

There was a stunned silence, but Cas was pissed as hell. He ripped the IV out of his arms and threw off his blankets. He stood, swaying slightly. His arm was completely bandaged. Dean felt a pang in his stomach seeing it. Naomi had tears running down her face. She looked like she was staring at a monster.

Chuck looked from Dean, to his wife, and then settled his eyes on Cas. He steered Naomi toward the door. 

“Don’t bother coming home until you’ve realized your sin,” he said over his shoulder. The door slammed behind him, leaving Dean and Cas standing in the room alone


	11. Chapter 11

Cas could feel himself shaking. For the first time in his life, he had stood up to his parents. And they had kicked him out. They had immediately kicked him out. He shakily sat on the bed. He had just lost his entire support system. Shock spilled through him like a tipped can of soda. It seemed to come in waves. 

He didn’t realize he was crying until Dean sat next to him. He wiped his eyes quickly, he wasn’t going to cry in front of Dean. He may have been in the hospital from a suicide attempt, and he may have just gotten kicked out of his own home, but he didn’t want Dean to think he was childish. He didn't usually cry anyway. 

But Dean placed a hand on his shoulder. It seemed assuring. Cas turned his face away from him and stared at the pillows on the bed. 

“Cas,” Dean said into the silence. 

Cas didn't answer. 

“Cas, let’s go. Let's get out of this hospital,” Dean tried again. 

“And go where? Home?” Cas said, his voice brittle. His sarcasm was hard to miss. 

“My home. It’s just down the street a couple of blocks,” Dean said. 

“What do you even mean?” Cas turned to look at him, his brow furrowing. 

“You can live with me. It’s better than your parents hellhole anyway,” Dean said, standing. 

Cas shook his head frantically, “No, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I’ll be okay on my own.”

“Cas,” Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. “What the hell makes you think I’m going to leave you to live on the streets? This isn’t a discussion,” he continued as Cas tried to push back. “Now let’s go.”

Cas stared at him. He would never understand Dean Winchester. He just plowed through with what he thought and left no option to argue. On one hand, living with Dean would make Cas dependent on him. Cas would need Dean. And Cas, despite being enamored with everything Dean did, didn’t want to be tied to someone as volatile as him. On the other hand, however, the only other option was the street. He would have no food, no school, no friends. He’d be alone. 

Cas stood up shakily, “Lead the way then.”

Dean smiled as he did, leading the way out of the hospital and shooting smiles at the staff and patients. Cas followed meekly behind, hiding his bandaged arm with his coat. Cas assumed that his parents checked him out, given that no one seemed to stop them as they left the hospital. 

Dean’s car was parked down the street a bit. He opened up the door and Cas slid in. He didn’t want to realize that he was going to live with Dean. He didn’t want to think about his mother, crying in their family car. He didn’t want to think about abandoning them for what he knew was evil. Homosexuality, drugs, smoking, Dean, they were all just one thing. Evil. He thought about going to hell for this. It made his skin crawl. But Dean slid into the driver’s seat next to him, and all sense of fear ceased. He was going to be okay. Dean was here. It was all okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone reading! If you want to follow me on tumblr it's fuck-it-im-bi More will be out soon :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Explicit sexual content.

Dean’s house was a small, three bedroom shack on the edge of south Chicago. It had a small driveway, but Dean pulled into it confidently. Cas stared for a moment at the house. He was afraid to go in. But Dean got out of the car, so Cas followed him, half reluctantly, up the walkway. He had no clothes, no money except the twenty bucks in his jeans. He wondered if he could go to his apartment and get his stuff. He didn’t want to risk it. 

There was a man lying on the couch when they came in. He had bruises covering his face and arms. In his hand was a beer. He looked confused as to why he was there. 

“Dean,” the man slurred. “How’d I get all these bruises?”

“Barfight,” Dean said as he pulled off his coat. “You won.”

The man shrugged with a sloppy grin as he stumbled to his feet, “Gonna head to Harleys. He wanted to debut a new drink or some shit.”

“Hey Dad,” Dean said quickly. “This is my friend, Cas. He’s gonna stay a while.”

Dean’s dad shrugged again, “Kay.”

Cas waved softly, but he had already walked out the door. Dean took Cas by the hand and led him into a room. 

It took Cas a second to realize it was Dean’s room. There was a small wooden desk pushed against a dirty window. His bed was a double, with ratty paint covered sheets and a thin blanket that didn’t really fit on top of it. The closet was filled with plaid, flannel shirts. In another far corner, a small dresser sat. One of the drawers was missing. It was a small, dirty, old room. Cas loved it. 

Dean looked at Cas apprehensively as he plopped down on the bed. The orange light of the sunset glided across his face. Cas clutched his coat. He was tired, and incredibly bitter. He had just been through one of the most harrowing experiences of his life. He wanted to relax for a minute, even for a second. 

Cas sat next to Dean on the bed. His whole body was tense, and he could feel his hands ripping apart the fibers of his coat. The tension in the room was palpable as neither said anything. They were alone. 

Then, all at once, Dean’s lips crashed into Cas’s. Desperation hung in the air like a starving man tearing into bread. Dean pulled Cas as close as possible as Cas wrapped his legs around him. He grasped desperately at the fabric covering Dean’s back, and Dean pulled Cas closer to him by his hair. The air is hot, and Cas’s heart was beating faster than it ever had. He wanted this so badly. He needed it. 

They break the kiss so Dean can pull off Castiel’s shirt. In response, Cas slid off Dean’s shirt. Dean kicked off his boots, so Cas followed suit. Then Dean pushed Cas against the bed. Cas looked up at Dean. He could hardly breathe, staring up at Dean. Dean stared down at Cas, as if drinking in the sight of him. There’s a moment of silence as they both panted. 

Then, keeping eye-contact with Cas, Dean touched his lips to his lower stomach. Cas’s breath hitched eagerly. Dean’s hands flew at he undid the buttons on Cas’s pants. They slipped off, and Dean threw them behind him without turning his head. Cas’s whole body trembled as Dean made a line of kisses all the way to Cas’s boxers. 

“Dean,” Castiel moaned, the tension building up in his body. His hands grabbed frantically at the sheets as the pressure seemed to build in every muscle of his body.

“Shhh,” Dean said, his voice almost husky. “Don’t look away. Watch me.”

Cas struggled to obey. Dean kept perfect eye contact as he sucked some of the skin on Cas’s thigh. Then, he bit it. Cas felt a shudder go through his body. He couldn’t suppress a moan. But he kept his eyes on Dean’s. Then, Dean stood suddenly, pulling off his own jeans in a single motion. He crawled back over on top of Cas, sliding his hand up Cas’s leg until Cas could hardly breathe anymore. 

“Dean!” He gasped, clutching at Dean’s arm. “Dean please, oh please.”

There’s a low hum in Dean’s throat, and his eyes flash with danger. He used one hand to pull off Cas’s boxers. Cas’s breath hitched again. He was so vulnerable under Dean’s invasive stare. He looked almost hungry as he stared as Cas beneath him. Cas’s body trembled like a leaf. 

Still, Dean was taking his time. He came back to Cas’s face and kissed him again, softly this time. Then, he sucked Cas’s neck gently, rolling some of the skin under his teeth. He sucked at the dip between Cas’s collarbone and neck. By the time Dean gets to Cas’s stomach, Cas was panting and trying to not call out. His legs twitched nervously, his body squirmed beneath Dean. But Dean was unwavering. He bit the skin one last time, and Cas’s whole body jerked. He looked directly into Cas’s eyes, he touched Cas between his legs. Cas moaned desperately. 

“Dean,” he heaved, his voice nearly a whisper. Dean inclined his head, playing just a bit more. 

“Dean,” the pressure was so intense Cas could hardly move. His entire body shook. He wanted this. He needed this so much. His body responded with everything Dean did. 

Dean smirked irresistibly. “One more time.”

“Dean!” Cas begged, his voice desperate. 

Dean gave a devilish smile. He moved back up to Cas’s head, gliding his fingers across Cas’s body. He leaned down to Castiel’s ear and whispered softly. 

“I’m gonna fuck you, Cas. I’m gonna teach you how to fuck by fucking you so hard you can’t see straight. You want that?” His voice was gruff against Castiel’s neck. 

“Please, Dean. Oh please,” Cas pleaded.

“Say it,” Dean’s voice whispered quietly into his neck.

“Fuck me, Dean. Please fuck me.”


	13. Chapter 13

Cas woke up covered in bruises and sorer than he had ever been in his life. In fact, Cas couldn’t move. He twisted to see if Dean was next to him. He wasn’t. Cas buried his face into his pillow, drinking in the contents of last night. The ecstasy, yelling names, and pulling hair almost threatened to give Cas a boner. But he was so sore he didn’t want to risk it. 

The door swung open as a triumphant and smiling Dean walked through the door. He was carrying a large duffel bag. Cas made an effort to cover himself with the blanket, his face blushing a deep red. He doesnt make direct eye contact with Dean, but Dean was so cheerful it doesn’t matter. 

“Come on, sleepyhead. It’s nearly eleven,” Dean chuckled.

“I -” Cas bit his lips and looked away. 

“What?” Dean raised his eyebrows, walking over to the bed. 

“I - I don’t think I can move,” Cas admitted, flushing. Dean looked surprised, then he leaned over the bed so his face was close to Cas’s again. 

“Do you need some...motivation?” Dean moved his hand under the blanket, dancing his fingers up Cas’s leg. Cas groaned with a mix of pain and arousal. 

“Dean, please. Just give me a second to move,” he said, moving Dean’s hand away gently. 

Dean chuckled, strolling back to the bag he’d dropped on the ground, “Good luck with that. Might be a couple of more hours for you.”

Cas went red again and decided to ignore him, “So where’d you go?”

Dean glanced at him, a little bit nervous and apprehensive. “You aren’t gonna like it.”

“What’d you do?” Cas tried to sit up, and was left to remember a copious amount of bruises from the night before. 

“I stopped by your parents to pick up some of your stuff. Just your books, some toiletries and some clothes. The door was unlocked and they were gone, so I snuck in and got it.” Dean admitted. 

Cas didn’t know exactly what to say. But he was grateful to Dean for taking care of him, despite being nearly useless. 

“Thank you, Dean,” he said softly. He stared at the duffel bag, remembering his father’s last words to him.  
Don't come back until you've realized your sin. 

The bruises covering Cas seemed to indicate he was nowhere close to realizing sin. In fact, he had plunged more deeply into it. But if this was sin, why did he feel so free? Why did he feel happy?

“Cas!” Dean’s voice broke Cas out of his thoughts. He looked slightly worried. “Did you hear me?”

Cas snapped his head up to look at him, “sorry, what?”

“I said, do you want to take a shower while I make breakfast? No offense, but you definitely need one.” Dean wrinkled his nose with a slight smirk. 

“I imagine you have something to do with that,” Cas shot back, a smile dancing on his lips. 

“Well if you want,” Dean stepped forward, “I could make you even dirtier for that shower.” 

Cas clenched his legs as he felt himself turn bright red. Everything was still so sore. He felt like he could barely walk, much less go for a round two with Dean. 

“No, Dean, no,” he said, grabbing at the blankets to cover himself. Dean leaned down and kissed him softly. 

“Hey, hey. Don't worry. I'm not gonna,” Dean grabbed a towel from under his nightstand and handed it to Cas. “Cover yourself and I'll show you to the bathroom.”

Cas took the towel gratefully. Dean helped Cas stand up and get the towel around his waist. Then, Cas followed Dean out of his room into the bathroom. 

“Ha, I remember my first time with a guy,” Dean chuckled as the entered a small bathroom. His eyes flitted over Cas’s body and Cas could see his muscles start twitching with longing. “I stayed home for a few days. Of course, Gordon doesn't have as much mercy as I do.”

“Wait,” Cas stared at him with wide eyes. “Gordon?” 

“Yeah,” Dean grinned. “Maybe one day I'll call him over and we can all have some fun one night.” 

Cas looked away from Dean. He didn't know why the idea of Gordon and Dean being together made him feel so...weird. He knew that Gordon and Dean had been sort of romantically involved at some point. But the idea that Gordon had been Dean’s first guy made Castiel sick to his stomach. And maybe…maybe a bit jealous. 

Dean left Cas to his shower. The warm water hit his skin, as if cleansing Cas of the night before. He enjoyed the water on his skin, and allowed himself to relax as the soap bubbles rinsed out of his hair. When he got out, he saw that Dean had left some of his own clothes for Cas to wear. Cas didn't really mind though. They smelled like Dean. And they fit surprisingly well. When he walked out of the bathroom, he felt almost brand new. 

Dean was making bacon on the stove. But he turned around and looked at Cas. His eyes raked over Cas and he bit his lip, as if the idea of Cas in his clothes turned him on. Cas could feel himself flushing pink again. 

“Do-do I look okay?” 

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean breathed. Cas found himself blushing. Sure, he usually wore slacks and a button down, not ripped jeans and plaid. But it's not like it was sexy or anything. Cas wasn't used to people sexualizing him. But he could tell Dean was trying to keep his mouth shut. Dean seemed to force himself to look away. He put all the bacon on a plate and turned off the burner. Cas did his best to change the subject. 

“Do you need any help?” Cas asked, trying to avert Dean’s attention to something more simple. 

“Uh- uh yeah. There are some plates in that cupboard, and silverware in that drawer,” Dean replied. “You can put them on that coffee table.” 

The coffee table was covered in empty beer cans and cigarette buds. So instead Cas cleared the table into the trash can and took the trash out. There were already a couple bags out, all full of beer cans and empty take out. When he came back in, Dean had breakfast on the tiny coffee table. Cas knew Dean was trying to make his place more welcoming, so he didn't mention that the bacon was a bit undercooked and that he had found three empty cans of beer under the couch. This was his home now. He'd have to respect it. 

“How do you like the food?” Dean asked, smiling at Cas. 

“It's great. You're a good cook,” Cas half lied. It was okay. The eggs had neither salt or pepper and the toast was burned. But Dean grinned, proud of himself. 

“Hey, so I was thinking we could-” Dean’s phone rung in his pocket. He sighed and pulled it out. “Just a sec.” 

He stood up as he answered it. But Cas didn't really mind. He took another bite of the God-awful toast and promised himself that he would make breakfast tomorrow. 

Dean hurried back over to Cas. “Sorry, Cas. I gotta go out for ten minutes,” Dean said, grabbing his coat. 

“Is everything okay?” Cas stood up quickly. Dean had helped Cas so much. He wanted to help as well. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean looked awkwardly at the breakfast and Cas. “I'll be right back. Ten minutes, and I'm right back.” 

Cas stared at him, trying to trust him. “Okay. I'll clean up. See you in ten.” 

Dean gave a quick smile. “See you in ten.”

And he was out the door in a flash, leaving Cas to wonder what the hell Dean was so panicked for.


	14. Chapter 14

Dean felt bad for leaving Cas alone, but he did have some serious business to take care of. Damn it, Crowley was going to be pissed. 

Dean pulled up next to the warehouse on the waterside. Several windows had been smashed. The door was supposed to be chained shut. The government had foreclosed on it years ago. Dean walked up to door and knocked the special as shit knock that Crowley had made up. Some kid who was maybe fourteen opened the door. At the sight of Dean, he opened it all the way and let him in. Dean could see several of his “co-workers” heaving boxes across the floor. He waited for a second until he saw her walking toward him, looking pissed as fuck. 

“Jo,” Dean said, trying to be casual. “Is he in?”

“You're fucking dead, Winchester. You cost him thousands of dollars pulling that stunt. If you give two shits about your ass you'll hightail it out of here.” Jo crossed her arms angrily. Dean ignored her. 

“Is he in?” He persisted. 

“Your funeral. Follow me.” She turned and started walking, not caring whether Dean followed her or not. She stopped outside his office, glancing at him. But he shrugged. He could deal with Crowley’s temper tantrums. 

The man was sitting at his desk when Dean walked in. He had tried to make his office look grandiose, as if he was the leader of a whole drug cartel and not some shit little gang in Chicago. He had hung musty tapestries on the wall and put down a red carpet. His desk looked like it was made of oak, but Dean knew it was synthetic. It seemed like a perfect metaphor for Crowley. 

Crowley stood when Dean walked in. And Dean would almost be intimidated if he weren't a full foot taller than Crowley. He glanced at the guards that stood next to Crowley. They were both sixteen year old kids. And though Dean was only a year older than they were, he felt like they were too young to be here. Of course, he had joined when he was fourteen, so it didn’t really matter. 

“Winchester,” Crowley spat. His accent always came out more when he was angry. 

“Sup Crowley?” Dean said, sitting down across from Crowley and kicking his feet up on the synthetic wood.

“You better have a fucking good reason for not showing up yesterday,” Crowley breathed.

Dean took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, not breaking eye contact with Crowley. “It was an emergency. I called Gordon to take my place.”

“He didn’t show up!” Crowley growled angrily. “We had the chance to take fifteen thousand dollars and we lost it!”

“Dude,” Dean took his feet off and leaned forward. “As far as I know, you’ve got millions stashed someplace. What’s fifteen thousand to you?”

“What’s fifteen thousand to you when I take it from your bank account?” Crowley threatened, his voice gravelly. 

“Dude, come on,” Dean sighed. “It was a fucking low-key job that would literally do nothing for you.”

“Dean,” Crowley settled into his fake leather chair. “You need this gang. You need the money every month. Don’t you want to put your brother through college? Don’t you want to take care of your dad? But if we can’t rely on you, I can promise you’ll have more problems than money.”

“When have I ever missed a job before, huh? Even your best have missed a job. And you know it won’t happen again,” Dean wasn’t going to beg someone like Crowley. But he did care about Sammy, and he needed the money that came in from this place. 

“Then you can make it up to me,” Crowley leaned forward. “And we’ll pretend this never happened.” 

Dean knew a catch was coming, but he nodded, “What do you want from me?”

“There’s a man who’s gonna meet with one of the leaders of a New York cartel. I’d prefer him not to keep that meeting,” Crowley leaned back in his chair. 

Dean went cold, “I don’t do that shit, Crowley. I think we’ve established that before.”

Crowley shrugged, “You will if you care about your brother. Or that boy you kept in your house last night.”

“You’ve been watching my house?” Dean shot to his feet. And Crowley can tell he’s gotten to him. 

“You didn’t show up for a job. We were worried. Of course, it was just some boy, wasn’t it? Some boy cost me fifteen thousand dollars,” Crowley pressed on. Dean didn’t answer. He was so angry, so furious with Crowley. 

“So,” Crowley continued, putting a sugar cube into his tea. “You will do this new job. And it will be finished by Monday or the boy who cost me my money will find himself in a precarious position, won’t he?”

Dean clenched his fist. He didn’t kill people for Crowley. He stole, lied to police, and helped transport drugs, but he didn’t kill. But he imagined Sam being held by one of Crowley’s men. Castiel with a gun held to his head by another man. He felt a cold hand wrap around his heart. 

“Get the information from Ash,” Crowley took a sip of his tea. “That will be all.”

And Dean found himself standing outside the office, his heart beating fast. A sense of dread fell over him. He headed for Ash’s office.


	15. Chapter 15

Almost as soon as Dean pulled out of the driveway, Cas’s phone started ringing. The caller ID was Restricted, but he knew who it was before he even answered the phone. 

“Hello?” 

“Castiel?” His dad’s voice sounded over the phone. A shudder passed through Cas and he flashed back to when his dad beat him for asking what a homosexual was. 

“What do you want?” His voice was harder than he had expected. 

“Castiel, we have a plan. Just come home, and we can fix this,” Dad said, his voice sounded almost pleading. But Dad had never pleaded for anything in his life. 

“What plan? How could you possibly help me?” Cas demanded. He was finally happy here, with Dean. He wanted nothing to do with these people. Right?

“There’s a camp, a camp for people afflicted by this evil. We have one picked out, and it can help. We can help,” Dad said earnestly. 

Conversion therapy. He knew what it was already. Of course, he had expected his parents to do this. Either to send him away or put him in a place to fix him. He just hadn’t expected them to do both. 

“Dad, please. Please let me be who I am. Please let me love whom I love,” Cas’s voice cracked. He wanted Dad to understand him.

“It’s an abomination, Castiel. You know this, you’ve always known this. Please come home to us, we can fix you. Let us fix you.”

And Castiel couldn’t argue. Because of course it was evil, of course it was an abomination. But it was his evil. He wasn’t going to be controlled like this anymore. He hung up the phone. His parents weren’t wrong. He was evil. He was a homosexual. 

And last night smashed into him like a truck. He had actually done it. It was bad enough that he was a homosexual. But he had let Dean - oh my God. 

He felt bile rising in his throat. The bruises that covered him now seemed less funny and more vile. He had allowed himself to let go of his own doctrine and faith so he could selfishly be with whom he wanted. 

The Bible was not guidelines on how to live your life. They were actually meant to dictate your life. Castiel had heard arguments from Dean and his friends about how religion was supposed to serve him, and not cause him to hate himself. But he knew they were wrong. Either he had to believe the Bible, and what it said, or he had to reject it altogether. 

Castiel’s bandages covering his arm seemed to itch. Christianity had been his whole life. How could Dean expect him to reject it? How could he be expected to let go of his entire world? He had been so confident that Dean would protect him, that Dean would make him okay. But all Dean had done was take advantage of his stressed and crushed state. 

He felt like two parts of his body were at war. One loved Dean, and knew that Dean really cared about Cas. He knew that Dean would never purposely hurt him, but maybe he was oblivious. He hoped Dean was oblivious. But the other side supported his parents. He had just left the people who had taken care of him his whole life. They had raised him, cared for him, made sure he was okay. And he had left them for a boy.

He was going to throw up. 

This place was vile, this world was vile. He had come from a holy, good place, and gone to a place littered with beer bottles and cigarette buds. He had come from a place that would let him go to heaven, to a place where hell was guaranteed.

He was frantic. He didn’t want to call his parents, or do anything that would compromise him. But he needed help, and he needed it from an old friend. He picked his phone back up, and, suppressing tears, he dialed her number.


	16. Chapter 16

Dean woke up alone in bed. He groaned as he lifted his head up, searching half-sleepily for Cas’s small body that he had fallen asleep next to. He felt his heart skip a beat when he felt nothing but an empty bed. He thought of Crowley threatening his family, threatening Cas. A feeling of dread stuck in his stomach. He bolted upright, fully awake and half scared when he saw a note stuck to the door. 

‘Dean. I’m meeting an old friend for coffee. I should be back by one or two..?’

Castiel’s neat handwriting calmed Dean down. He ran his hands through his hair, remembering Crowley’s warning in his head. The idea made him sick. He was only seventeen, he didn’t kill people. He had done a whole lot of fucked up things for Crowley, so long as he wouldn’t be a hit man. 

He rummaged through his desk drawer and pulled out his pistol. He had joined Crowley’s gang when he was just fourteen. His father had just been arrested for assault, Sammy had barely just turned ten. They were down to their last cent, and they needed to pay the rent. His dad had always left Dean in charge of Sam. If Dad came back to no home, it would be Dean’s fault. 

So he stumbled into the warehouse where he knew the gang was, and made a deal with Crowley. The gang gave him a pistol to commemorate his acceptance, but he had sworn to never use it. So here he was again, but this time he was protecting Sam and Cas. 

Dean laid the pistol on the dresser and took a beer from under his bed. He took a long sip from it. He needed someone to talk some sense into him. He immediately thought of Cas. He didn’t know how long ago Cas had left, but if anyone could help Dean, it was Cas. He took his phone and dialed Cas’s number. He didn’t pick up.

Dean sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, He was totally fucked. So what use was there complaining about it? He knew where Crowley’s enemy was, so why didn’t he just kill him now? It would certainly give room for an element of surprise. Dean picked up his phone again and called Crowley. 

“Crowley.”

“Dean?” Crowley’s smooth voice always pissed Dean off. 

“I’m ready. Get me backup and be ready to strike by midnight,” Dean stared at the pistol on the dresser, his heart turning to stone. 

“So quickly?” Crowley sneered. “I thought it would take at least another day for you to get the courage up.”

“Shut the fuck up, Crowley. Send some guys round the place and keep me updated. I’ll be the one to take him out.”

Dean hung up before Crowley could respond. But he was already on edge, and he could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He tried to convince himself that he was doing this for Sammy, for Cas. But it just made him feel more sick. 

A knock at Dean’s door scared Dean so much he nearly dropped his beer. He quickly hid it under his bed as he called, “Come in”

It was just Sammy. It was Saturday, and Sammy was still in his pajamas. He came in and plopped himself next to Dean, sighing melodramatically. 

“Dad is passed out on the couch,” He said, kicking his feet against the bed. He glanced around. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“My-” Dean choked, feeling himself go slightly pink. “You-you mean Cas?”

“Yeah. He’s your boyfriend, right?” Sammy crossed his arms and looked at Dean. 

“I mean, we haven’t really discussed it.” Dean admitted, looking over at Cas and smiling. 

“Would you like him to be?” Sam inclined his head toward Dean. 

“I-I mean, I haven’t thought about it,” Dean thought of Crowley, and the man he was about to kill. He felt goosebumps erupting all over his body. 

Sam narrowed his eyebrows, as if sensing something was wrong, “Dean, are you okay?”

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean could still see the gun on his dresser as he felt his heart turn cold. “I’m okay.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who's back and not dead.
> 
> Trigger warning: Blood, death, violence, threats.

TWO WEEKS LATER

 

It rolls over Dean in flashes. 

He was so stupid. 

So so stupid. 

He still has dreams about that night. It went so wrong so quickly. Getting into the hotel was easy, but no one knew. No one knew it was a trap. 

The police chief’s voice rolled around in his head.

"Son, we are your only chance at a full life. Tell us exactly what happened, exactly who was involved, and you could get immunity." The police chief, Victor Hendrickson, had said, lighting up a cigarette and staring at Dean with an almost earnest gaze. If he could lock up Crowley's Gang, he could retire with an honors badge. 

Dean didn't know why he wouldn't just answer him. Maybe it was pride, an insistence that he would not betray his gang. Maybe it was a blind hope Crowley would save him. They had been set up by the opposing gang. They knew Crowley would bite when they brought an investor into town. They set the police on them.

The police chief sighed and leaned forward, his bald head glistening in the incandescent light. "Look, son. You’ve got murder on your plate. We know you got a brother. Samuel, right? You really wanna leave him and go to jail? You really wanna leave him with your father? A known drunk? Come on, Dean. Talk to us. Tell us what you know."

Dean's breath caught in his throat. Sammy. 

After getting into the hotel, Dean found his way to the investor’s room. It was so easy, it should have alerted him that something was definitely wrong. But he had never done this before, so he assumed it was just par for the course. He used one of the hotel cleaners keys to get into the room. Supposedly, the investor had a couple million dollars he was going to pay the enemy gang. Dean could hear him humming in the bathroom. He stood behind the bathroom door, his heart beating so fast he almost thought the man could hear it. The hair stood up on the back of his neck, his scalp prickled. Something was wrong.

He whipped around as he was tackled by two different men. The smell of drugs and sweat filled Dean’s nostrils as he struggled and fought. A well aimed shot to his face sent him reeling backwards, and he was kicked to his knees as he heard the unmistakable cock of a gun. He went completely still. 

The man in front of him was well dressed, wearing a very expensive silk suit and holding a leather bag. Dean recognized him immediately. It was Alastair, the leader of the other gang. 

He was everything Crowley wanted to be. His expensive, tailored silk suit triumphed over Crowley’s ill-fitting knock off of Brooks Brothers. The sharp haircut and expensive glasses, all the way down to his black leather shoes and manicured nails. He was ridiculous in all of the ways Crowley wanted to be, and ten times more imposing. No wonder Crowley hated him so much. 

Alastair dragged a chair to Dean and sat down in front of him. Dean could smell his cologne from where he was on his knees. The man he was supposed to murder came out of the bathroom and sat calmly on the bed. It was a trap. The whole thing was a trap. 

“Dean...Winchester, I presume?” Alastair’s high voice filtered through the air. Dean didn’t know how to respond or what to say. So Alastair continued, “Sorry to drop in on your party. I’d simply hate to ruin the fun.”

Dean stayed silent, eyeing the door. Even if he managed to get out of the arms of the two men holding him, he didn’t think he would make it five feet before he’d be dead. There was no where he could go. So he stared at Alastair in the face and kept his mouth shut. 

“Am I correct in assuming you were here to kill this man?” Alastair tilted his head toward the investor sitting on the bed, who looked rather nervous. Dean stayed silent, so Alastair nodded to a guard who pushed back Dean’s jacket to reveal his pistol. He took it out of his holster and handed it to Alastair, who turned it over in his hands. 

“Crowley is dumb enough to brand every gun with his signature, the poor bastard.” Alastair mused. He then took it, cocked and aimed it at the investor and shot him. The man fell backwards onto the bed, blood draining from his head into the white sheets, staining the bed. Dean could imagine it soaking through the whole mattress. 

Dean’s felt shock shake his whole body and he had to fight the bile rising in his throat. It wasn’t the first person he had seen get killed, but it still shocked him. Alastair seemed to enjoy seeing Dean’s reaction. He leaned forward, a chuckle rising out of him. Dean could feel his whole body quake against his will. 

“You’re just a kid, Winchester. So I’d hate for this to ruin your life. But,” He reached over and grabbed Dean’s face and pulled it toward him, “if you turn in every person in your gang, i’ll bet you’ll be let out with no charges.” He winked, and Dean stared at him as realization flowed over him. Of course Alastair had the police in his pocket. 

“I’ve got a deal for you Dean,” Alastair stood up. “You got about five minutes until the police gets here. And you have two options. Either you wait here and let the police take you in, and you give them everything they want and give you full immunity. Or, you run. And they catch you and put you in jail for life. Your home gets investigated and your brother gets put in a foster home. It’s your choice Dean, but I won’t stop you.” 

He nodded to his men, and they let go of Dean’s arms. Dean staggered to his feet, his heart pounding. And without a word, Alastair and his men left the room, tossing the gun on the bed. And Dean did the only thing he could think of doing. He ran.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Talking about God and condemning homosexuality.

Cas spent the day stressing out about meeting someone from his “previous life”. Hannah was one of the only people he knew who was godlier and more biblical than he was. Hannah would die for him, and she was the picture perfect Christian daughter. In fact, her whole family was perfect. Cas’s family and hers were the closest in the church. And Cas knew his parents secretly thought they would get married, and probably so did Hannah. But Cas was never attracted to her, and never viewed her as anything more than a friend. 

Hannah had moved near Chicago a few months before Cas did. And after he called her, begging her to meet him and talk to him, she agreed to take a train into the city. He didn’t know why he wanted to talk to her so badly. Perhaps maybe he thought she could convince him homosexuality was wrong. Maybe convince him to go to his parents? But mostly he wanted to be with a friend he could trust.

Hannah walked into the coffee shop Cas was brooding at, her hair combed plainly to her shoulders. She wore a flowered blue dress, and a little makeup. Cas knew that her family rarely approved of makeup because it was seen as trying to seduce men. Girls were allowed to wear it minimally on special occasions. Cas tried his best to look like he hadn’t slept in the clothes he was wearing and smiled wearily at her. 

She immediately looked concerned, as she had mostly ever seen Cas in a neat suit or his school uniform. He knew he looked horrible. But he lifted the coffee he got her and gave a half smile.

“It’s a Caramel Mochiatto, your favorite..?” He awkwardly laughed. Hannah graciously smiled and accepted it. Her family believed getting coffee from Starbucks was superfluous and unnecessary. So one time they had snuck to a Starbucks and gotten super fancy drinks which Hannah ended up loving. 

“I’ll pay you back,” Hannah smiled, sliding into the chair across from him. “I know how expensive they are now.”

Cas shrugged, “My treat. I don’t mind.” He felt so awkward. He shouldn’t have called her. This whole thing was a mistake. 

“Castiel,” Hannah reached across the table and took Cas’s hand, her gaze kind and supporting. Cas felt himself stiffen and tried to relax. “Are you all right? You sounded really upset on the phone. And I’ve heard some...concerning...things about you lately.”

She seemed to be choosing her words carefully. Cas imagined his mother calling Hannah’s mom and sobbing about the whole ordeal. Of course, in Christian culture, Hannah’s mom probably would have told Hannah Cas was having a “hard time”. Cas felt his body quiver. 

“School…” Cas didn’t know where to start, “has been a bit rough. There have been some...people...I guess, who have confused me and led me astray from God. I guess I just needed a friend I trust to show me what I’m missing.”

It’s amazing how easily the Christian terms came back to him. He could feel his back get straighter, almost like he was getting holier as he spoke. Hannah nodded sorrowfully, and squeezed his hand. 

“I would be more than happy to help, Castiel.”

“So, one of questions I’ve been getting is...why is homosexuality wrong?” Cas tried to phrase it so it seemed like people were asking him this, not actually him asking her. Of course, he knew what her answer was. He just wanted to hear it from her. 

“Well,” Hannah reached down and pulled her worn leather bible out of her bag. There were color coded tabs on almost all the pages. “1st Corinthians, a letter written by Paul, gives the most frank answer..”

She began to read out the passage, which Cas had memorized when he was fourteen after fatefully asking what a homosexual was. It talked about who could enter the kingdom of heaven, and it states that gays can’t. Simple, Cas thought to himself. You already know this. 

“But Hannah,” Cas interrupted her, and she looked a bit shocked, “Why do you think the bible says it’s wrong?”

“It’s unnatural, firstly,” Hannah responded immediately. “But it’s not my place to question why God commands something. Maybe we can’t understand his glorious plan now, but one day, in heaven, we will.”

She looked as if that cleared everything up. But it didn’t. Because somewhere in Cas something snapped. 

“That’s bullshit.”

Hannah looked taken aback and fearful. She had never heard him curse before. 

“I don’t think I should believe in a God that bans love for no reason, and turns my life upside down for some plan I’ll never know, and expects me to be okay with it.”

“Castiel,” Hannah looked horrified, “It’s okay to struggle, God’s will is hard to bear. Job had a horrible life, everything was taken from him, but trusting in God got him through it-”

“I know the story of Job,” Cas snapped. “But how can God claim he loves us if he makes us go through such misery?”

“Misery is necessary to grow closer to God. The story of-”

“Then I think he’s a shit god.”

Hannah went silent. She looked almost in tears. 

“I’m sorry, Hannah, I should never have asked you to come. I’ll be all right.”

And with that Cas grabbed his coat and left, almost running all the way back to Dean’s house. It had started raining, and it was already dark by the time Cas walked into the house. He had about eight missed calls from Hannah, and even more texts. He ignored them all and threw his phone on Dean’s bed.

Where was Dean? Cas was angry and feeling rebellious. He wanted to fuck around with Dean again. He didn’t give a shit about God anymore. Fuck Him. He loved Dean, and he was going to be with him.


	19. Chapter 19

Dean didn’t show up for hours, and Cas was starting to get worried. He stood out on the porch, practically freezing, calling Dean again and again. It was one in the morning. Way too late for Dean to be out in the middle of Chicago. 

Cas could hear the distant sound of sirens when suddenly Dean swerved into the driveway and jumped out of the car. He bounded up the steps of the porch, his eyes looked crazy, his nose was clearly broken, and he had blood all over him. Castiel felt himself shiver with fear just looking at him.

“Dean, what happened?”

“Cas, oh Cas,” Dean was shaking, and then crying. His whole body melted into Cas’s arms. He felt so much smaller now, in Cas’s arms. 

“I fucked up, I fucked up so bad Cas,” He repeated over and over. Cas felt like he was in a nightmarish dream. Then Dean pulled away and ran into the house, Cas following behind him meekly. 

“Dad! Get the fuck up!” Dean grabbed a glass of water and threw it on John’s face. John shouted with indignation. 

“What the fuck ya do that for?” John nearly yelled. Dean stepped close to him and pressed the car keys into his Dad’s hand. 

“You need to take Sam to Bobby’s and stay there. The cops are coming.”

“What?” Cas and John both said at the same time. Cas started shaking with fear.

“Take Sam and go to Bobby’s! It’s the only place Sam will be safe. Go!” Dean barked. Then he went into Sammy’s room. Cas could hear Dean gingerly waking up Sam and telling him to get up. John stood for a moment in shock, then grabbed his shoes and pulled them on. Dean walked out of his room, little bleary eyed Sam trailing behind him.

“What the fuck did you do, Dean?” John looked at Dean carefully.

“There’s no time to explain. You need to get Sam out or someone might kill him.” Dean kept his voice even.

“WHO might kill him?”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Dean roared., whipping around at his dad. “CROWLEY? ALASTAIR?”

“You mean to tell me you’ve been working with CROWLEY?” John bellowed back, his entire body was tense and angry.

“FUCK Dad can you PLEASE do something USEFUL for once and GET. SAM. TO. BOBBY”

John turned on Sam. “Get in the fucking car.”

Sam scurried out the door, taking a frightful look back at Dean before he left. John looked at Dean for a moment and then turned and left too. And Cas and Dean were left alone. 

Dean grabbed one of the beer bottles and threw it against the wall before sinking to the floor. Cas stared at him. He didn’t know what to say or do. The sirens were slowly getting louder. 

“Dean-”

“You gotta get out of here Cas,” Dean met Cas’s eyes. He was sobbing uncontrollably, his arms hugging his knees. He looked like a child.

“What did you do?” Cas’s voice was shaking. He kneeled next to Dean.

“They think I killed someone Cas,” Dean’s voice was broken, but Cas felt a whole wave of nausea wash over him. 

“You? Kill?”

“I didn’t!” Dean grabbed Cas’s sweater and stared at him. “But-but i would have. I had to. Oh God Cas I’m so sorry fuck I’m so fucking sorry.”

Cas stepped back, everything was crumbling around him. All he had wanted was Dean. All he wanted was to be happy with Dean. And it was all going to shit. Where would he go? What would he do without him? 

“You need to get out of here Cas. I don’t want them to find you.” Dean said through sobs. 

“Dean,” Cas stared at the crumpled mess on the carpet. “I love you.”

Dean looked up at him, “I love you too, Castiel.”

And Cas walked out, the sirens getting louder and louder. Dean’s car was gone, presumably taken by John and Sam. Cas felt like the world had crashed down on him, and one thought circulated through his head, taking over all other thoughts like a virus. 

This is what happens when you leave God. 

No, he tried to argue with himself. But it seemed true. He had left God, and chased after his selfish desires, and now he was alone in the world. Dean was possibly a killer, and definitely a part of some horrible gang. He had left a family who had taken care of him and raised him as best they could. How could he leave them? How?

And he started running. He didn’t even know where to go. But in an hour he had reached his old brownstone, soaked from the rain and sobbing. His key still worked to get in the front door, and he climbed each step until he landed outside his apartment door. He had no choice but to knock. They were all he had. His dad opened the door, his cold eyes staring at his son, drenched from the rain and sobbing outside his door.

"Castiel-" His father said softly.

"Dad, I'm so sorry, I've made a horrible mistake. Please, please help me."


End file.
